


Reckless Intent

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Drabble, Fingerfucking, Greaserlock, M/M, PWP, Rough Sex, Rugby Captain!John, Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets injured while playing rugby, and his currently ex-boyfriend, Sherlock, shows up to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless Intent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nikotheamazingspoonklepto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikotheamazingspoonklepto/gifts).



> This is written entirely for my lovely friend, [ Niko](http://nikothespoonklepto.tumblr.com/)  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY DEAR :D  
> Hope you enjoy it ^_^

John slowly made his way into the locker room with the help of his teammates. He winced when Greg let go, steadying him and making sure that Mike still had a good hold on him before he completely backed off.

“I’m going to go get an icepack, yeah?” Greg said, glancing down at John’s leg and cringing a little before he took off jogging out of the room.

John gave a small grunt, shifting his weight and trying not to bump any other part of his bruised self before he finally gave up. “Lower me to the floor, please, Mike,” he instructed.

“But, John…”

“Please, just do it. I know what I’m doing. Not my first injury.”

Stamford sighed but complied, easing John onto the floor with his back against the lockers. He moved the bench closer without being told, and gently guided John’s ankle up to rest on it.

John cringed at every movement. “Just a bad sprain,” he repeated for what felt like the twentieth time, trying to reassure himself and his friends. He was most likely right, it was just the gouges from the other player’s cleats that made it look really bad.

Greg returned with an icepack just then, as well as some disinfectant and a temporary wrap. “I would stay, but…” he glanced over towards the direction of the field, as if it could be seen through the wall of the locker room.

“No, don’t be stupid. Both of you, go. We can’t lose this game just because I’m down,” John said, taking the medical items from Greg and fluttering his hands at his friends. “Get your arses back on the field and finish them off.”

Greg grinned, and Mike chuckled. “Yes, sir,” the both saluted lazily, jogging back out to the field to a chorus of cheers that John could hear from where he was seated.

He smiled slightly and then groaned, wincing a little at the pain in his leg.

The locker room door slammed open and John jumped, putting a hand on his leg to steady it. He was about to yell at whoever it was – clearly not a player, because they were all on the field – when he saw the long, jean-clad legs, the white shirt hanging loose over a thin torso, the leather jacket that John knew smelled like cigarette and pure, unadulterated sex.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” John asked, but only half-heartedly, to his on-and-off boyfriend of three years.

Sherlock pulled off his sunglasses and crouched down beside him, putting two fingers under his chin and tilting his head up. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice tender as John had only heard a few times.

John turned his head away, still mad at Sherlock for their last breakup. “Does it bloody look like I’m okay?” he snapped. “I’ll live.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s chin, pulling his head back around until their eyes locked. The softness was gone from his grey eyes.

John’s heart started thrumming. He knew that look.

“No,” John said sharply, trying to pull away from Sherlock again, and when that failed, trying to shove him away, though he wasn’t really putting much effort into it. “No, you do not get to come waltzing back in here and pretend to save the day just so that you can have s –”

Soft, Cupid’s bow lips crashed into his own, and he forgot his argument.

Sherlock kissed him the way he had been missing for a long time, hard and then soft, with heat, and tongue, and teeth, and fingers pulling hard through his hair. Sherlock was in charge – always in charge.

“I am going to kill,” Sherlock growled, breaking away from John’s mouth to suck a sharp bruise at his neck, “that arsehole,” he finished after a moment.

John gasped when Sherlock grabbed him under the thighs and lifted him up, keeping him pressed back against the lockers with his hips and chest. “Sherlock, ankle,” he reminded breathily, tipping his head back as his neck was continuously assaulted with nips and bites and licks.

All he got was a grunt in response, and the sound of something heavy being scraped across the floor.

“What are you doing?” John breathed, clutching at Sherlock’s shoulders and trying to hold on with his thighs.

Sherlock spun John around, all but dropping him onto the bench and leaning over him, pressing him down onto the hard surface. “Tearing you apart,” he growled.

John squirmed, caught between trying not to hurt his leg and trying to get Sherlock closer. “Fuck, Sherlock,” he murmured, dropping his head back as the leather-clad teen yanked down his shorts and pants. “Hey!” John yelped at the sudden pressure of a dry finger against his entrance, jerking back and pulling something in his ankle. “Lube, please, Sherlock.”

Sherlock snarled, but he stood, dropping John’s legs as he stalked around the locker room, obviously deducing where the lube would be. He found it in record time, marching back to John and lifting his legs again.

“God, you’re so fucking hot, already hard for me,” Sherlock purred seductively, using his teeth to pop the top on the lube, pouring some over his fingers and immediately pushing the first one inside.

John clenched his muscles instinctively, his hands clasping at the edge of the much too narrow bench, trying to hold onto something as Sherlock began ruthlessly finger-fucking his hole, stretching him open and not paying much mind to his prostate.

“I am going to fuck you so hard,” Sherlock breathed, his words ghosting over John’s cock and making him shiver, “that you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

John grinned at the promise as Sherlock pushed in another finger, stretching him wider, making him accepting. “Prove it,” he challenged, smirking at Sherlock, who was looking absolutely wild between his legs.

John met Sherlock’s eyes when he looked up at him, and there was the rise of a challenge in his eyes, the promise of being split apart and left to pick up the pieces. It was one of John’s favourite things about Sherlock. The sheer danger of him.

Sherlock pulled his fingers unceremoniously from John’s hole, getting slowly to his feet and giving just one almost-painful pull to John’s cock. He didn’t say anything as he bore down on John, refusing to look away from him, slowly fisting his own cock to slick it up with lube.

“As you wish,” he murmured, his voice deathly still.

John didn’t have any time to brace himself before hands gripped his thighs and Sherlock’s long, hard cock slammed into him. He cried out shamelessly, tossing his head back and slamming it into the bench. “Fuck, Sherlock,” he groaned, to which the leather-clad biker only chuckled and started to ruthlessly pound into him, skilfully avoiding John’s prostate.

Sherlock knew exactly how to push and pull his John, how to play him like the tuned violin that he kept hidden from everyone but the man beneath him.

John moaned heavily, reaching out to card his fingers into Sherlock’s curls, tugging on them and earning himself an extra hard thrust, directly at his prostate. All breath left him, and his hand dropped, his arm falling limp until his knuckles dragged on the cold floor.

John’s cock was weeping, dribbling shameful amounts of pre-ejaculate over his abdomen. His throat and cheeks blushed bright red in embarrassment, wondering how in the hell he had gone from hurt and injured to mad with lust in under five minutes. Then Sherlock growled and John knew how. He could never say no to Sherlock.

“You are mine, and always mine,” Sherlock said possessively, his voice rolling from him deep like the roar of his beloved motorbike. He leaned down and captured John’s lips immediately, sucking on his tongue and fucking him with deep, hard strokes, nearly bending him in half.

“Sherlock,” John gasped once Sherlock had pulled away to ravage his neck, leaving bite marks and hickeys that promised to turn into deep bruises. “Jesus, Sherlock, please,” he begged, his thighs shaking from the force of needing to fall over that edge of relief.

Sherlock reacted immediately, leaning up again and changing his angle and his speed, hitting John’s prostate with an accuracy that should have been frightening, but John simply found it breath-taking.

John arched his back, his muscles taunt, so bloody close he could near taste it. A fine sheen of sweat covered his body and dampened his hair, and he was lost in the sound of Sherlock’s thighs slapping against the back of his own.

Sherlock reached up and carded his fingers into John’s hair, gasping it and forcing him to open his eyes. “Come for me, now,” he commanded, and John could only obey.

He shook apart, ropes of cum covering his chest and abdomen. He felt Sherlock join him in ecstasy, filling him with his seed before collapsing on top of John.

John panted, catching his breath and trying to get back the anger he had felt earlier for Sherlock, but it was entirely evaporated.

“You’re an arse,” he breathed, wrapping his arm around Sherlock to keep him close, kissing his temple. “Now, since you got me into this mess, feel like helping me clean up?” he teased, lightly poking Sherlock’s ribs.

Sherlock leaned up, smirking down at John and appreciating the blush that still covered his cheeks. “Anything for you, my John,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This was not beta read, so any mistakes are my own. Also, this is my first PWP and my first drabble, so don't yell at me if it's weird, though constructive criticism is always good.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
